


orbits in decay

by wariangle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a brief moment, Indra wonders if she said no to Octavia because the girl's no warrior or because she's afraid she would end up hurt. Turning her face from the girl back to the training ground, Indra pushes the thought firmly away before it has a chance to take root.</p>
            </blockquote>





	orbits in decay

Indra finds these Sky people despicable, little better than the Mountain Men. She despises their apparent weakness, the softness of their skin and hearts, their ridiculous leaders. She despises the way they simply crashed down from the heavens to where they escaped from the war her people have fought for decades, against Mount Weather and against the poisoned Earth and all the horrors it has spawned and began making demands. While they sat safely in their sky, living like gods in their steel box, she trained to be a warrior, to lead and protect her tribe. They consider the first hundred they sent down children, but when Indra was their age, she already carried the evidence of walking this earth in the scars on her face.

They will not survive here. It would be a favor to both their people to simply wipe them out. But she, like the other eleven, has sworn allegiance to the Commander and Indra won't turn on her oath. It is foolishness, this alliance with the Skaikru, but if it is the Commander's wish to see it through, then Indra will see it done.

It doesn't lay her misgivings to rest, however. Relinquishing her sword and knife before stepping into the Skaikru den feels like being separated from a limb. She can feel her her men's unease behind her in the way they shift and mutter under their breath, and how the tension runs higher with every sword dropped clattering into the bin.

She is not surprised when the fight that breaks out - the wariness and distrust is like static in the air, as venomous and unrelenting as the acid fog.

-

It's easier out in the open, away from the cramped cavernous confines these people call home. Indra has her warriors pair up and face off in the middle of the camp, instructs them to give everything they have today. Let the Sky people see what the Trigedakru can do.

She shakes her head at Octavia's demand to train with them. It would be an insult to her warriors - she is a child with a sword, all rage and no clue how to harness it into strength. She clings desperately to her moment of glory, of having saved Indra's life, but luck and quick reflexes doesn't make a fighter. She wouldn't last a minute against any of Indra's warriors. They would rip her to pieces.

Indra keeps her eyes on the girl throughout the day - the line of her jaw remains sharp, tightly clenched with frustration, behind those ridiculous braids she wears, fancying herself Trigedakru. She watches as Octavia whets the edge of her blade with terse but long and practiced movements of her arm. She handles her sword well, Indra has to admit. There is an easy, fluid grace to the way she tests the sharpness against her thumb and stands, sliding the sword seamlessly into the sheath on her back.

For a brief moment, Indra wonders if she said no to Octavia because the girl's no warrior or because she's afraid she would end up hurt. Turning her face from the girl back to the training ground, Indra pushes the thought firmly away before it has a chance to take root.

-

Octavia's perseverance doesn't surprise her, but hungry and tense from spending all day on enemy ground, she finds it annoying. She isn't used to having a lesser fighter question her orders.

"Fio!" she calls, beckoning one of her strongest. "Give this girl what she wants."

Let's show the girl from the sky what it's like to play at being a Trigedakru - let her people know that they doesn't stand a chance against her warriors, never mind the army hidden away in the woods.

It takes less than a minute for Fio to throw Octavia into the mud and Indra decides that it's good: let the girl feel the sting of her defeat sorely. She isn't cut out to be a warrior and never will be. The satisfaction she feels at having her initial estimation proved correct is not tainted by concern - it would be foolish to hold any for a girl who will get herself killed at first brush with battle.

"Hey," Octavia gasps out, "I ain't gonna give up that easily."

To the surprise of Indra and all the gathered warriors, she heaves herself up with an iron glint of resolve in her eyes.

Fio looks to Indra for instruction.

"She wants more," she says, suddenly intrigued by the fight. "Oblige her."

Octavia goes down again, and again. Fio turns from her as she lands in the mud for the third time - the fight is clearly won.

But somehow, with her breathing rattling roughly through her chest and her face splattered with her own blood, Octavia rises again on unsteady legs. She gets in a weak hit and spits a mouthful of blood in Fio's face before he sends her sprawling again.

Getting her shaking arms under her, she makes another attempt to rise, gritting her bloodied teeth. Fio kicks her back down. Indra expects her to stay down, cannot really see how she could possibly get back at this point, but still she does try, weakly forcing herself to her knees, her face streaked with blood and dirt.

Fio readies himself for another blow, but Indra steps in between them. "Enough," she tells him. "Even a fool knows when to surrender."

She gestures to her warriors to follow her and they leave for their hunt, leaving the Sky girl in the mud with the rain to wash her clean of blood.

-

Through her years, Indra has seen many wounds far worse than the scrapes and bruises Octavia carries. Even so, she pauses for a moment at the sight of her mangled face, the purplish marks blooming across her skin. She sits with her shoulders slumped and her usually steely eyes downcast, but even in defeat there is anger in the way she holds herself, defiance in the sharp angles of her body. Shame burns hot in her, Indra can tell, but there is little self-pity in the way she admits her defeat out loud.

She isn't really sure why she makes the offer of taking Octavia on as her second. She is Skaikru and despite the iron will she showed tonight, she is unsuited to their way of life. She is too old - several years past the age most of her people become seconds. Indra has no interest in forming ties with these people of the sky. And still, she makes the offer. Still, she is pleased when Octavia accepts it.

-

"Keep up," Indra snaps at Octavia as she leads her from the camp into the woods. The sun is on the rise, leaving long swaths of shadow on the ground. Octavia, wincing with every step and every breath, is falling behind.

Indra stops in a small clearing, far enough from the camp for privacy, but close enough for them to hear if any trouble would arise back at the mangled piece of metal the Sky people call ship. She turns to Octavia. "Are you ready to begin?"

Octavia looks like she it's a struggle to simply keep herself upright, but she nods resolutely, pushing her shoulder back and straightening her spine.

Indra takes a knife from her belt. It was a gift given to her from the Commander when she swore her fealty. She throws it in Octavia's direction and the girl bends down with a grimance to pick it up, brushing a leaf off the handle and inspecting with sure fingers.

"Come at me," Indra orders.

Octavia makes a decent attempt, Indra has to give her that, but with her bruised skin and aching bones it is childishly easy for Indra to repel her attacks. She doesn't even bother to loosen her sword from its sheat, instead opting to simply sidestep Octavia's weak slashing with the blade.

When a too-wide lunge sends Octavia stumbling, catching herself with one knee and a palm against the wet ground, Indra lets out a low chuckle. Octavia's head whips up, eyes suddenly dark with anger.

"Come up, Sky girl," Indra says. "Your dedication is truly admirable, but one must also learn to accept one's limitations."

Octavia's glare hardens.

"Our warriors are strong," Indra says as Octavia stands up. "But in battle, we rely just as much on our strategy. Our enemies may have the technology, but we have the woods on our side. To fight in them, you have to learn them. Come on." She gestures to Octavia to follow her deeper in among the tall trees.

"Here." Octavia tries to hand back the knife, but Indra shakes her head.

"It is custom," she says, "that a warrior gives her second a token of her patronage. Don't lose it, Sky girl."

She watches as Octavia gently tucks the knife into the strap to covering her chest, right across her heart.

-

During their lesson, Indra kills a couple of rabbits to bring back to the camp and is surprised when Octavia, upon their return, grabs them and her new knife and begins to flay them.

"Lincoln taught me," she says after a quick glance at Indra. There's that streak of defiance showing again - in the mention of the traitor's name, in her indignation at being presumed lacking.

"Clean that blade when you're done," is all Indra has to say in reply.

-

Octavia's injuries, only skin-deep, heal, but Indra still hasn't let her begin to her training with the sword yet, to her obvious frustration.

"I know how to use the sword," Octavia is saying through clenched teeth. "This," she gestures angrily with the bow in her hand, "is bullshit."

It is true that she's more skilled with the blade than with the bow - most of her arrows has missed the tree Indra's marked and she still jerks from the string, as if she's afraid it'll hit her in the face as she lets it go, no matter how many times Indra has told her it won't.

"A warrior that only masters one weapon is a weak one," Indra says. She moves to stand next to Octavia. "Pull the arrow back," she instructs. Octavia holds back a sigh, but does as she says.

"Keep the pressure here," Indra puts her hand between Octavia's shoulder blades, feeling the muscles in her back straining, "and hold it until the arrow has hit home. And keep your thumb off the string. Fold it down into your palm."

Octavia adjusts her hold. Indra pushes at her elbow to get her to hold it a bit higher. Octavia's arms are beginning to tremble with the effort.

"Take a deep breath," Indra says, "aim, and let go."

Octavia pulls in a breath through her nose and Indra can't help but let her eyes linger on the clenched curve of her jaw as she concentrates on aiming along the arrow as Indra taught her.

She releases the arrow with a sharp twang of the string and it goes more than a few hands over Indra's mark, but at least it shows some improvement.

"Keep your fingers lower on the string," Indra advises her and Octavia bites back another sigh, but pulls a new arrow from the quiver at her hip without a word.

"Chin up," Indra tells her with a smile. "I'll let you get back to your beloved sword soon, Sky girl."

Octavia releases another arrow and it hits a midge closer to the mark. She grins in victory and goes to retrieve her arrows, leaving Indra to wonder when 'Sky girl' went from insult to endearment.

-

"Soot and mud won't make you one of us," Indra tells Octavia when she goes to collect her and finds her smearing some sort of black concoction around her eyes in a mimicry of war paint.

Octavia flushes. "I..." She bites her lip, then drops her shoulders in defeat. "I'll go wash off."

"Wait," Indra says. She pushes Octavia down on a chair and takes the bowl with paint from her. "Lift your head up and keep your eyes closed."

Octavia does as she says and Indra dips her thumb into the mix. Lifting it to her face, she draws a line across Octavia's eyelid and out to her temple, smearing it into the skin. She has done this on others before, of course, but for some reason this feel a lot more intimate than all those other times.

"Thank you," Octavia says quietly in Trigedasleng when Indra steps back. She looks good in the paint and not much like a sky girl at all any longer.

Her black-rimmed eyes catches Indra and something passes between them, something charged and dangerous.

-

"Stop!" Indra orders her warriors as they rush forward and they stop dead in their tracks. "Her kill."

Octavia does well - one small cut is a lot less than Indra expected. She has her enemy on the ground with her blade at his throat in no time and to keep her from hesitating, she shouts, "Finish it!" She sees how Octavia's fingers tighten on the handle on her sword as she readies herself for the killing blow and feels proud.

But that's when Clarke intervenes, and Octavia falters, looking between her and Indra, before stepping back and dropping her blade.

Indra knows that Clarke's plan is sound - they are in grave need of whatever information the man can be persuaded to yield - but still she feels a brief, discomfiting sense of betrayal at how easily Octavia went against an explicit order from her.

-

It is late into the night when Indra wakes from the sound of creaking metal, the beep of a machine or any other kind of infernal noise this metal box insists on making. She dearly regrets having agreed to sleep at Camp Jaha as a sign of trust while she acts as an advisor to the Chancellor, because it means not getting much sleep at all.

She throws her blanket aside and stands up, deciding to go get some air. She hears it before she sees it, the sounds of someone moving outside the ship and the swish of metal cutting through air.

"You train late," she says, startling Octavia who whirls around with a glare. She only has herself to blame for not paying closer attention to her surroundings. Sometimes Indra can truly see the great warrior she knows Octavia could one day be, but at other times she is still so clearly a child playing at war.

"Can't sleep," Octavia says, kicking at some leaves on the ground. She looks up, giving Indra's face a searching look, and must find what she seeks, because quickly, as if the words need to get out, she says, "I'm too worried. Bellamy is on his way to that fucking mountain and Lincoln has been gone too long." She casts another look at Indra and, probably worried that she has revealed something, exposed some kind of unforgivable weakness, she adds bitterly, "Not that you care."

"About what?" Indra says. "What is it that I don't care about? Your brother? I don't. He has killed dozens of our warriors - he is an enemy. But right now, I need him to be alive. As long as our victory counts on his survival, I care."

"And Lincoln?" There's that anger again, flaring up. "You exiled him," Octavia says, her tone accusing. "You hurt him, you wanted him dead. Is that caring?"

"I was protecting my tribe," Indra says sharply. She was as hot-headed as Octavia when she was her age - if this had been back then, Octavia would already be on the ground with Indra's knife at her throat, begging for mercy. "I take no joy in sacrificing any of my people," Indra continues, "but I will always put the safety of my tribe first. That is what it is to be a leader. We live a hard life, Sky girl - when this world went to shit we weren't the ones given the opportunity to go hide in the sky. We were the ones left behind. We fought. And we survived." She nods at Octavia, with her braids and her war paint and her sword. "You want to be one of us, but you don't even have the first idea of what has shaped us into what we are."

Octavia has lowered her gaze, her face turned away, and Indra looks at her and hates how she has let this girl under her skin, into her heart. She is truly of the sky, with her arrogance and her lack of understanding for the way of life they have to lead, the world they live in. But Indra has been fighting battles on too many fronts all her life and she is growing tired. She won't fight this too.

"I'm sorry," Octavia says, quietly. And louder, "You're right and I'm sorry."

Indra nods, accepting the apology. She draws her sword and steps closer. "Spar with me, Sky girl," she says.

-

On the eve of the attack on Mount Weather, Indra sits in her tent sharpening her weapons with every nerve in her body on edge. She is not sure what to feel in the face of the coming battle. There is the usual fear, for herself but mostly for her people, but also elation andg grim determination. Tomorrow, they will take their vengeance.

Despite the thousands of warriors gathered in their tents around hers, the camp is deadly quiet. There will be no training or laughter tonight - all are too busy with their thoughts.

Someone raps on the canvas of her tent.

"Come in," Indra says and Octavia steps inside. She is in proper armor - thick guards to protect her shoulder and metal plates covering her chest and back. She has been wearing it for the last few days, trying to get used to the feel and the weight of it. Her face is pale and drawn.

She sits down, pulls her knees to her chest. "I'm scared," she whispers, as if she's admitting some terrible secret. "For myself, for Bellamy and Lincoln, for everyone out there."

Indra sheaths her sword and puts aside. "I won't give you any lies, Sky girl. Tomorrow, death comes for us. All we can do is fight and hope to even the scales against our enemies. Blood will have blood."

She doesn't really register Octavia moving, doesn't anticipate the kiss, and it's clumsy, Octavia stumbling into her arms and crashing their mouths together in an awkward clash of teeth.

"Please," she whispers fervently. "Please."

Indra knows that this will hurt in the morning when Octavia will be gone, with her fears soothed and her body's need laid to rest.

Still, she cups Octavia's face in her hands and returns her biting kisses. Still, she lets Octavia pull her on top of her with eager hands. Still, she strips first Octavia and then herself out of their armor when Octavia's fingers fumble.

It's desperate but slow, both of them dragging it out as long as they possibly can. Octavia's skin is so curiously devoid of scars and marks, and Octavia runs her hand across Indra's tattoos and battle scars as if they are a map she's trying to figure out how to read.

Afterwards, Indra rolls to the side and forces herself asleep as quick as possible to give Octavia the opportunity to slip out and get some rest before they march. They will need their strength.

-

She wakes in the quiet serenity of dawn with Octavia's head pillowed on her shoulder and her eyes fixed on her face with a soft look. Without a word, Octavia closes the distance between them for a kiss and Indra answers it gently and carefully, almost afraid to break this fragile moment of peace on this day of blood.

They help each other on with their respective armor, securing straps and checking to see that all pieces are placed right, for an excuse to keep touching. The hardest part of battle is not the fear for one's own life, but knowing that those closest to you are at your side.

"Here," Octavia says and from a pocket in her pants she pulls out a knife, offering it to Indra. She must have gotten the blade from somewhere, Indra thinks, but the handle is clearly made by her own hand, from heavy oak wood. It's a little rough around the edges, but beautiful and usable nonetheless.

Indra has no idea if Octavia understands what significance an exchange of weapons have for them, but right there and then she doesn't care. She accepts the blade and places it across her heart, mirroring the way Octavia wears hers.

"Come on, Sky girl," Indra says and takes her hand. "Today we march for our people."

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
